Of Monsters and Men
by Hitchhikers-towel
Summary: What turns a bright, young missionary into the most feared monster of the Legion? Joshua Graham tells his story of fear, hate and vengeance to the Courier.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors note: This is going to be my first multi-part fic so I would very much appreciate feedback. Enjoy!**

**Introduction**

The Courier was a man of many questions; I had first observed this on our first meeting in angel cave. I had been inspecting endless amounts of .45 pistols when a tall gentleman wandered in. Red dust from the valley covered his boots and duster, worn and dirty boxing tape covered his hands like gloves and most notably he sported an eye patch on his right eye. The boy introduced himself as Tex and then began asking questions at a mile a minute. _Aren't you dead? What is this place? Where are these people from? _

In that moment I did not realize how much of a trusted ally Tex would become. He would aid me in defeating the White Legs and somehow in my blind vengeance he led me to reconcile my past and put old demons to rest. I was not surprised in the least when word reached Zion that he had made New Vegas an independent state from the Legion and the NCR. The Courier had a way about him that enchanted everyone he met; he spoke of the future and hope, second chances in my case. Listening to him speak was like sipping the Lords enteral water. Tex brought a new beginning to a jaded and broken world; I could never thank the good Lord enough for creating a young man like the Courier.

Once every month or so Tex would visit Zion to see if the tribes needed any supplies. During these times he would always come prepared with a new round of questions, something that I had come to welcome and expect.

On this particular visit Tex took a seat across from me while I was reading scripture by the campfire. The sun was setting behind his head and his good eye shone with its usual boyish excitement.

"Good evening, Mr. Graham." Tex began with a lopsided smile.

"Good evening." I responded and placed the scripture down knowing that this was the beginning of a lengthy conversation.

"May I ask you a personal question?" This was not the normal topic for us to discuss. Mostly he asked for advice for what to do within the Mojave and I usually tried to have him figure it out for himself by asking my own questions. He was a smart young man that didn't need to be influenced by a former warlord in any way.

"I do not see why you couldn't." I responded trying to smile through the bandages covering my face.

"How did you get mixed up in all the Legion stuff? Didn't you say you were a missionary? How did it all start?" He asked while picking at something under his fingernail. Perhaps he was nervous I would get upset with him for drudging up the past.

"That's a simple question with a rather complicated answer, Tex…" Members of the Dead Horses had started to wander into camp to turn in for the night. "Let's take this conversation inside; it's getting dark."

We sat ourselves at a worn wooden table. The Courier presented me with a pack of yellowed playing cards and began to deal out hands.

"I hope in telling you my story that you can learn from my mistakes so you do not make the same ones." I said while looking at the hand I was dealt.

Tex nodded and motioned for me to continue. I was glad that I had changed my bandages earlier in the day- I wasn't going to get the chance that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: In the Beginning**

* * *

I was born in Ogden, Utah on a rainy day in March. According to my mother, I was the easiest out of the five to deliver but the hardest to raise. I was stubborn and rambunctious; it would take hours of prodding to make me eat my vegetables and countless lectures before I would apologize for breaking windows. She used to joke that I was the reason her hair turned gray.

There was seven of us in all - my mother and father, their eldest, David, Sarah, Me, Martha, and finally Jude. My father was Mathew Graham, the repairman of the town. He could fix just about anything that you gave him with some tape and a few screws. What I remember most of him was how kind his eyes always were and how he never raised his voice. He was born and raised in New Canaan unlike my mother, Irene.

She was a tough as nails farm girl with a no nonsense attitude. If any of her children gave her grief, they were sure to regret it. My mother was trained as a midwife by the Followers of the Apocalypse after her father died when she was 16. She did not know how to read or write, but she did know how to grow crops and raise animals; in exchange for lessons she taught the Followers all she knew about plants and animals. At 21 years old, Irene Mayweather packed all her things and headed out into the wastes to help those who needed it. That was when she stumbled across New Canaan and my father. She became the town pediatrician and midwife soon after her arrival. My father used to tell us about how he would follow her around like a lost dog until she agreed to court him. Eventually she agreed to marry him and they started their family.

My childhood was one of the few peaceful periods of my life. The New Canaanites guarded the town well so that the citizens within its walls were free from the harsh and unforgiving wasteland. My days were spent going to school in a nearly condemned school house to learn how to read and write, and then I would be dragged to church to learn the word of the Lord.

On one humid Sunday in July I remember sitting on pew in between my older brother and sister and listening to the Bishop Mordecai loudly proclaim that God's wrath spares no man, no matter how great. He also listed all of the sins that would cast you in the eternal lake of fire: stealing, lying, premarital fornication, envy, and wrath. He punctuated each one of these great sins by slamming his fist down on the pulpit. The Bishop's eyes would shift between individuals in the congregation, making those who fell under his intense gaze feel either guilt or fear. I remember being afraid that God was going to strike me down because I had lied to David earlier in the week. I brought these concerns to my father who, after hearing me confess my sin, kneeled down in front of me and smiled softly. "Joshua," he said. "Would you like to know what my favorite story from the Bible is?" I nodded solemnly, thinking he was going to tell me about God's wrath and fury. "It's the one about the Prodigal son, you know that one right?" I nodded again feeling slightly more at ease. "I like it because it shows how merciful God truly is. I want you to remember, son, that no matter how far you've strayed, no matter what sin you have committed, that you will always receive forgiveness if you seek it." With that, he patted me on the shoulder and told me to wash up for dinner. I had always taken my father's gentle kindness for granted when I was younger and now that I'm an old man, I desperately wish that I was more like him.

When I emerged out of my childhood and into my teens, my faith started to waver. I always had too many questions and never enough answers. I nearly fell asleep in church every Sunday and could never pay attention in Bible study. The one thing that always held my interest was learning the languages; they had a set of concrete rules to follow and whenever you mastered one, the rest became easier. I exceled in Latin, Spanish and many of the tribal languages and I was allowed to start tutoring some of the lower classmen to improve their skills.

It was around this time that I started being friends with Marcy Cunningham. She was smart, funny and all the adults hated her. They said she dressed too boyish and spoke to quickly but to me they were endearing quirks instead of character flaws. The first time I spoke to her was a Tuesday, I believe- yes, it was Tuesday because I just had gotten done with tutoring. I walked out of the back of the schoolhouse to see Marcy sitting on a rusted swing set that threatened to collapse if she put any more pressure on it. She was wearing jeans that were torn at the knees and revealed the tanned skin beneath them and a t-shirt that was probably white at some point in time but with age had turned a burnt yellow color. Her hazel eyes were transfixed to the book in her hands and pieces of her short blonde hair fell over her eyes but she was too absorbed in reading to push it aside. The evening sun was casting golden hues across her back so it looked like she was a glowing angel of light. In that pristine moment I thought that Marcy was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and it left me speechless. She looked up from the book and cast her mischievous gaze towards me and her lips broke out into a toothy grin- a grin that made me forget how to breathe. "Did you come out here to say somethin' or are ya just gonna keep ogling at me all day?" Marcy stated all the while holding her smile. I opened my mouth to say something but no words came out. At this she erupted into laughter. "Did learning all those fancy languages make you forget English, Josh?" I couldn't believe that she knew my name. Marcy marked and closed her book as she stood up. I cleared my throat. "What are, uh, what are you reading?" I asked timidly. She walked up to where I was standing and showed me the cover. It said: _The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire_ in worn gold lettering. "It's kinda boring." She intoned. "But hey, at least it's not _Moby Dick_." I nodded in agreement and looked down at my feet. "You can borrow it when I'm done if ya want." She suggested. I looked up into her smiling face and couldn't help but reciprocate the sentiment. "I would, thank you."

From that moment forward we were inseparable. We constantly passed notes and traded books, we shared our secrets and above all we loved each other without reserve. There were whispers around town about what we were truly doing together and how our parents should keep us more in check, but none of that talk bothered us any. Marcy and I were just happy to have found each other. The first time we kissed was during a church picnic; we had snuck away to the schoolyard where we first met and sat underneath one of the dead trees. We started talking how we usually do but that talking soon turned into kissing and my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. When we broke apart we looked and each other and started laughing; I laughed until my sides hurt and it was one of the best feelings I had ever experienced.

Not long after that, it was time to go on my mission. All New Canaanites had to go spread the word of God into the wastes when they turned 19. My parents told me that they were proud and that they knew I was going to make a difference. I told Marcy that I would marry her when I came back and she scoffed and called me a hopeless romantic. I walked out of the gates of New Canaan with the thought of marrying Marcy when I returned, and somehow that eased my anxieties about venturing into unknown territory. I remember turning and looking at my home for one last time feeling like this journey was going to make me a changed man.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Sowing Seeds**

No amount of training could have prepared me for the vast harshness of the wasteland. While the New Canaanites tried their best to train everyone in the community to fight, they fell short in the realm of bracing the young missionaries to the things they would see. In a short three months of travel I had seen countless starving children, gruesome murder, robbery, rape and a slew of other Godless acts. In those three months was also when I made my first kill.

One night when I set up camp in an abandoned fill-up station, this half crazed man busted through the barely-hanging-on door. I couldn't make out the words he was shouting, I think he wanted caps or drugs, perhaps both. I tried speaking to him but the more I spoke the more violently he would swing his tire iron, not hitting anything in particular, almost as if he was doing it to emphasize the gibberish falling from his lips. He could not be reasoned with. I pulled out the .45 pistol my father gave me when I left; I aimed, closed my eyes and fired. When I opened my eyes I saw the lifeless gaze, the blood pooling around his dirty scalp, his rotted teeth were still showing in a grimace. I dropped my gun and looked down at my shaking hands. I had never pondered the power I had before; I had the capability of controlling life and death, something that I only thought God could do. And a part of me, something deep in the recesses of my psyche enjoyed it; it liked the power, the control of it. I tried to push those thoughts far from my mind with prayer and fasting, but I couldn't shake them.

My three months alone in the wastes left my faith bending in the breeze. I thought to myself, "What am I doing out here? There are people starving and dying and what am I doing for them? Why would God want me to preach to people who will only be dead in the next few months?" These thoughts felt simultaneously blasphemous and true. The people who wandered the wastes needed a community, like New Canaan, a place where they could call home; somewhere where they were protected from outside evils.

I followed I-15 and 89 South to Arizona until I reached the Grand Canyon. When I first saw it, it reminded me of God's power. The Cayon's vastness left me in awe. Seeing the unsullied rivers and trees brought forth a new hope within me; one that quieted my wavering faith and made my mission more clear. I was walking along a path near the Canyon to find a place to set up camp when I spotted a group of travelers approaching. I had become somewhat weary of strangers and tried to lay low so they wouldn't see me. As they came closer I could see that they all were wearing white coats with some type of insignia on the right arm. My attempt to not be sighted was in vain because who I assumed to be the leader waved to me and called out a "Hello". I reciprocated the pleasantries and stood to my feet; I was glad to be meeting people who didn't shoot on sight.

When we met up I could see that the man who called out to me was slightly older than his traveling companions. His chestnut hair was graying at the temples and crow's feet were developing around his green eyes. He smiled brightly with straight, white teeth. Behind him was a dark skinned girl with and afro that was pulled back with a wooden headband, a nervous looking boy with wispy blonde hair that fell over his eyes and in the very back was a boy who looked to be around my age. He had short, light brown hair and honey colored eyes that gave me a suspicious glare.

"I'm Bill Calhoun with the Followers of the Apocalypse." The older man stated with a slight accent. "This is Ava," he said while gesturing to the dark skinned girl. "This is Seth," he was now pointing to the blonde boy. "And he's Edward." At the mention of his name the boy in the back crossed his arms and looked away, pretending that he was more interested in something else. Bill frowned slightly at Edwards reaction and then turned back to face me and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm Joshua Graham, from New Canaan up in Utah." I offered. I had never heard of the Followers of the Apocalypse before. At the time it sounded like some sort of cult.

Bill let out a low whistle. "You've walked quite a-ways Mr. Graham. You all by yourself?"

I nodded "I'm on my mission. When New Canaanites turn 19 they have to go and spread God's word to the wastes." I could see Edward rolling his eyes.

Bill nodded his head in understanding. "Isn't that something? We're out here trying to learn the tribes and their languages, put everything on record for future reference."

I perked up hearing that they were studying languages. "I'm well acquainted with the tribal languages. I could tell you what I know if you'd like." My mission was to help those in need after all. While I did not know Bill, he seemed genuine enough and it would be nice to talk to some civilized people.

Everyone in Bill's company smiled at that, except for Edward who was still looking off somewhere in the distance. "That would be greatly appreciated." Bill enthused as he clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Talking to the tribes is hard when you don't know their language. We set up camp not too far from here. Would you like to join us for the night? We were going to visit the Blackfoots either tomorrow or the next day. If you would be willing, you can come and translate for us." Bill was a bit too excited about me coming, but I assume he was having difficulties learning tribal culture because of the language barrier. God was calling me and I would answer.

"That sounds good to me." I said with a smile.

Bill clapped his hands. "Great! Follow us and we'll take you back to camp. We have a few more people for you to meet." He started to walk and everyone followed suit. Bill's walking pace was a bit fast so he was ahead of the rest of us. I walked along side Ava and I could see that Seth was rambling about something to Edward who looked at him with unabashed distain.

Ava jabbed my bicep with her elbow. "Hey, I'm Ava, as Bill said. Thanks for coming with us. You're doing a great service for people you don't even know, which I guess makes you a good person."

I laughed. "I suppose so… Not to intrude, but what's up with Edward?"

Ava raised an eyebrow. "What? Ed? Oh he's been like that since I've known 'im. His mama would always tell him how great he was, always treated him like he was perfect just 'cause his daddy got killed by raiders. All that bullshit went straight to his noggin." She tapped her temple with one finger. "His head's so big I'm surprised it can still fit so far up his ass." This caused me to laugh out loud. Even though it was slightly mean spirited, it was funny. Never had I met such a vulgar woman. Ava laughed too which caused Seth's attention to be drawn to us. He draped his arm over my shoulder. I tensed up, either Seth didn't notice or care, I suspected the latter.

"What are we laughing about over here?" He inquired while giving Ava a once over. She in turn rolled her eyes and flung his arm off me.

"Why do you need to be so fucking creepy? Can't just walk up to people you don't know and touch 'em." Ava hissed. It was obvious that she didn't like Seth.

"Whoa there Nelly, no need to be hostile. Just trying to get acquainted with our new friend. Be a good girl and I might give you a treat later." He said in a suggestive yet patronizing tone.

Ava looked indignant. "Listen here ghoul fucker, you keep talking to me like that and you're going to wake up with one nut, go it?"

"Hey, hey, hey, I was just making a joke. I swear, fuck a ghoul once and you're labeled forever!" Seth lamented.

"It would be different if it was a sane ghoul but you screwed one of the feral ones." She turned her gaze to my reddening face, never had I heard anyone speak so casually about intercourse. "He tied the poor thing up and fucked it. That's like fuckin' a dog you know. It doesn't know what's happening." That visual made me feel uncomfortable but she continued. "Dr. Brookes caught him and made him go to counseling for 6 months and we all see how well that worked."

Seth made a passive sound. "I was flying high on psycho; I didn't know what the hell was happening. Shit, I barely remember that night."

At this point we reached that campground. I wasn't much, five tents, a campfire and two picnic tables. There were five others milling around the site. Three were wearing the same white jacket as the others but two were decked out in leather armor and had weapons dangling from their belts.

Bill told me to make myself comfortable and that they would be starting dinner in an hour or so. Ava told me that I could share a tent with her as long as I'm "not a perv." Seth declared that he had to take a shit and wandered off from the site with one of the leather clad men shouting at him not to go too far; Seth stuck up his middle finger in reply. Edward sat at a picnic table and opened up a book, something about him was so lonely. I wanted to go over and try to speak to him but Bill beat me to it. I sat my things down in Ava's tent and came out to try and meet the others.

The men in leather were mercenaries charged with protecting the people on the expedition. The first merc's was named Geoff. He spoke with a slight lisp and chewed tobacco, he had black Mohawk that lay limply to the side of his head and the habit of picking his fingernails. The second one was Roberto. He wore a cowboy hat and would stroke his beard when he spoke. There was a long silver scar that ran from his left temple to the middle of his cheek. Neither of them seemed to be inclined to small talk.

The next person I met was Dr. Brookes; yes the one that caught Seth fucking a ghoul. She was probably the same age as Bill. She had soft brown eyes and pulled her dirty blonde hair into a high bun. She asked me all about where I was from and what tribal dialects I was taught. I could tell she was the mother of the group. Dr. Brookes, who insisted that I should call her Edith, introduced me to her twin boys, Jem and Andy. They shared their mother's hair color but had blue eyes instead of her brown. Andy was more sociable than Jem, who tried to stand behind his brother. After all the introductions were made, it was time for dinner.

We all sat around the fire and ate Blamco Mac and Cheese with tomato, except for Edward who opted to sit at the distant picnic table. "You want to sit over here with us, Ed?" Bill called out to him. Edward gave a short 'no' in reply and that was that. Bill sighed. "I don't know how to get through to that kid."

Ava shrugged and spooned some Mac and Cheese into her mouth. "I don't think there is any getting through to that one." She intoned while chewing.

"It's not polite to talk with your mouth full, dear." Edith quipped. Ava shrugged again and continued chewing.

Everyone was quite for a bit after that. The sound of spoons scraping against bowls filled the air. The sun was starting to set and the moon began to rise. I felt at peace for the first time since I left home.

"What exactly are the Followers of the Apocalypse?" I asked, breaking the silence.

Andy was the first to respond. "We were formed to tend to the needs of the people after the Great War. We teach and train people to do all sorts of things. Our main base is back in the Boneyard in California."

I nodded. "So you do humanitarian work?"

"Basically, yeah." Ava agreed.

That was a refreshing thing to hear, there were still some good people in this desolate world. Everyone finished eating and cleaned their dishes. We sat around the fire a bit longer and I could see Edward retreating to his tent. I made it a goal to talk to him tomorrow. We listened to Roberto tell a story from before the bombs fell about a man who dressed up like a bat and protected a town called Gotham. He said he found a cache of old comics while he was rummaging through a store and that people from before the war were "fuckin' weird". Soon enough it was time to go to bed.

That night I prayed for the meeting of the Blackfoots to go well.


End file.
